


Guardians

by night_reveals



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/night_reveals/pseuds/night_reveals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seifer and Squall sit atop the only tree in the dunes of Windmill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guardians

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anamuan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamuan/gifts).



> Ficlet for ze beautiful [Nikki](http://anamuan.livejournal.com/profile) per her request.

The tree's bark is rough beneath Squall's fingers even through his leather gloves.

"Fuck's sake, where are you going?" Seifer shouts up even as he's throwing his coat on the spongy ground and starting up himself.

Squall remembers this tree and its branches, how fifteen feet up they split to create a little alcove. Once he could fit his whole body there, hunkering down for hours with little trinkets or well-loved books. Now it's barely big enough for him to use as a platform to the higher boughs.

"It's been two months since I even saw you, so just -- stay still." The trees filter Seifer’s voice, to some small degree, and Squall feels alone for a few seconds more. “Hyne, Squall, you’re so difficult -- ” Hefting himself up the last few feet, Seifer arrives at the same level as Squall at last.

The dunes of Windmill stretch before them, the surf a few hundred feet away beating against the shore. This is the only tree for miles, the second-highest point after the lighthouse. The salt in the air braces Squall, bringing back all the years he's had Seifer, and all the years he hasn't.

"You should have said something," says Squall, keeping his gaze ahead. The frothy caps of the waves are growing, and he feels Leviathan roll around in his belly.

"That would defeat the purpose of 'undercover'." Seifer slowly slides closer on the thick branch they occupy, more wary of the thirty-foot fall than Squall ever is. His voice goes softer, into the register that Squall only started to hear after five years together. "I couldn't tell you." There's no real apology there, but if there were it wouldn't be Seifer.

“It’s over?” asks Squall.

“Almost. She’s trying to amass power, putting her feelers out to other possible knights. I had to step in. Another one on the loose is exactly what we don’t need.”

“...” Squall stares forward. “Yes.”

They wait, there, the sun setting over the restless ocean.

In the dim light, the orange sun reflecting into his eyes, Squall takes off one glove slowly. It's sticky with the blood of the animals he's been butchering all over the plains in the past few months, dispensing tension with battles. When his hand is bare, he reaches out to Seifer, who hasn't worn gloves since he gave up the gunblade and magick. For the first time in more than two months, they touch. The rush is like junctioning after a long absence, the power and inevitability that crowds through his veins to curl up in his mind, already knowing where it is welcome.

Squall sighs and closes his eyes without thinking.

Unseen, Seifer grins, his blond and silver hair glinting in the setting sun.


End file.
